Unfinished Business
by The Dyslexic Pineapple
Summary: He shouldn't be doing this; no matter how much he wants it he knows very well he shouldn't. She's still the defense's assistant, and he is the chief prosecutor. And they're friends. And he says that to himself over and over as his hands slowly find their way around her neck.


**This takes place during Turnabout for Tomorrow in AA5 (aka "may contain spoilers").**

**Also, this is my first fanfic, so a little feedback is always welcome :)**

* * *

It's not that he isn't interested in the case; on the contrary, this one case has been on his mind for several months now. Still, if it were up to him, he would rather have the trial some other day.

He has deliberately made it known that he takes special interest in that particular case, but when he is asked to actually _step down and prosecute for them_, Edgeworth is perhaps a little more than mildly irritated. He's been spending the day with his good friend Maya, and after she makes them hot cocoa and he admits to her that he's never seen a single episode of Doctor Who, she is downright outraged. A few hours later, they are on the couch in front of his TV, and he is just pointing out that it is scientifically impossible for a public call police box to be "bigger on the inside" when his phone rings.

"This is chief prosecutor Edgeworth… I beg your pardon? Sir, I am the _chief prosec_\- … You cannot be serious about this request, even if it is against Wright..."

Maya's eyes shoot up.

"Phoenix is there?"

He doesn't want to break a business call, so he nods.

"OH MY GOODNESS HE'S GOING TO BE THERE? I'VE MISSED HIM SO MUCH MILO YOU HAVE TO GO!"

She is bouncing on her knees next to him now, and he is doing his best to stay formal and composed with an overexcited (and rather attractive, though he would never admit that to her) young woman vigorously shaking his shoulder and begging him to take the case.

She has always been so enthusiastic when it came to Wright.

It isn't supposed to bother him the way it does.

"What?... No, no, it's nothing… Excuse me?... _Ahem, _that is incredibly inappropriate of you… Alright, I'll be there as soon as I can."

By the time he hangs up, Maya's burst of laughter has died down to a silent giggle, and when she looks at him he can tell by the change in her expression that she (once again) could read him like the back of a cereal box.

He doesn't understand why it is always like that with her. When he's with anybody else, he is always prosecutor Miles Edgeworth: formal, punctual, stoic. Always within a minimum personal distance of 4 feet. His expressions are always calculated. A neutral face, a grimace, a slight smile, and sometimes a smirk or two for good measure.

But something about this particular young woman always catches him off guard. The first time they went out alone, it was because she needed help with her training as a spirit medium and did not want to ask Wright for help – something about Wright raising a magical child, he believes. He agreed to help her out as a favor for Wright, but somehow, things escalated.

It mildly bothers him that he doesn't know how they got to this point, and he finds himself going to Kurain Village more often and staying longer with each visit. It mildly bothers him that he does not know when or how they've established a "usual spot" near the ice-cold waterfalls. It mildly bothers him how he does not remember deciding to invite her to his house, let her into his own personal space, where she had her first sip of Earl Grey tea from his cup (and spit it out, subsequently calling him a "disgusting snob" for liking it). And it not-so-mildly bothers him that she calls him Milo, even though he practically begs her to call him Edgeworth like everybody else.

This all bothers him, but more often than not he is too busy enjoying himself to think twice about it.

And now here she is, staring at him, tearing down all the walls he's been surrounding himself with for the past 25 years with her big, confused eyes.

"What's wrong?" She puts her hand on his shoulder, and he looks away, trying not to let her in on any more of what's going on inside his head.

Silence.

"Is it because I ruined your really cool mysterious vibe at work? I'm really sorry Mil-"

"It's not that, it's just…"

"… It's just what?"

"Why do you want me to go so badly?"

"Umm… I thought you were really into this case, and I figured since Phoenix is going to be there, you'd want to be there too. Why? Oh my goodness did you guys fight?!"

"No, no, we're fine, we haven't fought or anything…"

…

"Are you jealous because I got really hyped up over Phoenix?" She smiles, tongue-in-cheek, and playfully punches his shoulder.

His cheeks flush, and he quickly excuses himself and gets up before she can see his face and deduce the rest.

It's not that he doesn't want her to know (oh how he _really _wants her to know, wants more than late nights on the couch watching Steel Samurai reruns). He has just never been good with words. And even if he were, he doubted he would have the courage to confess anything of that nature to her.

* * *

Ten minutes later, he is at the door, ruffled and bespectacled, prim and proper.

She is holding the door for him, and he thinks she might be holding back a grin.

_Is it because of the ruffles?_

He can explain them as a fashion statement later.

"I've called a taxi for you. You can stay here until it arrives, and feel free to do anything you please, so long and you don't enter my study. I've got important case files there, and I wouldn't want you spilling hot cocoa all over them."

She giggles under her breath, her cheeks flushed, and as he turns to leave he finds her pulling him down by the ruffles, and kisses him on the cheek like she alw- ...She's holding herself against him, closing in on what little space was between them, her lips pressing against his, and he feels the blood rushing to his face as he accidentally drops his case files on the floor.

He shouldn't be doing this; no matter how much he wants it he knows very well he shouldn't. She's still the _defense's assistant_, and he is the _chief prosecutor_. And they're _ friends. _And he says that to himself over and over as his hands slowly find their way around her neck.

She pulls away slowly and looks down, obviously trying to hide the pink flush on her cheeks, and under ordinary circumstances he would probably do the same.

_But these are most definitely not ordinary circumstances._

He can't move, can't hide the deer-in-the-headlights look on his face, can't stop staring at her, because he's searching her, he's trying to find the slightest evidence in the way she looks that this is all some strange dream (he's had more intense thoughts and dreams, of course; ones involving a lot more ruffles and a lot less standing around), but no, _this…_

"I was looking around your study while you were changing, and I came across your journal…"

Oh.

"And, um... ahem… how much have you, uh… read?"

"Only a little bit, actually… Is that why you were being a sourpuss about the Phoenix thing?" She kneels down to pick up his case for him.

All of his blood, he decides, will reside in his face for a while longer.

"I um… You know I'm not very good with words and, well, self-expression. I also uh... I didn't want to push myself onto you..."

Pause.

She hands him the case, her hand brushing his, and this time he thinks it may not be an accident. "You know what, you have a trial to get to. I wouldn't want to ruin your dramatic reappearance in court today. Just promise me you'll take me home tomorrow morning, okay?"

And with that and a smile, she slowly closes the door, leaving him outside his apartment with a look of plain disbelief on his face.

_Tomorrow morning?_

* * *

He decides he's going to win this trial, and he is going to have a showdown against Phoenix Wright, and together they will end the dark age of the law, and when they do, chief prosecutor Edgeworth will begin to rid the legal system of all its corruption

_But not just yet._

First, he will need to go home, because he has some late night business to attend to.


End file.
